Powdered Sugar and Toronto Snowflakes
by Imaginari-Mari
Summary: Craig’s still in rehab, and receives an unexpected visitor bearing baked goods. Sequel to Sometimes. [CrAsh]
1. Rehab Blues

**My Little Pastry Chef**

**Ch. 1- Rehab Blues**

**A/N:** CrAsh-y goodness. Craig's still in rehab, and receives an unexpected visitor- one bearing baked goods. Sequel (ish) to Sometimes. This is what happens when Ashley arrives at Craig's rehab center in Vancouver.

Craig sat on the bland gray couch in the rehab common room, a battered leather notebook lying open in front of him as he absentmindedly chewed on his pen cap.

His therapist had said that keeping a journal would help him 'deal.' Of course, he had no idea what he needed to deal with. _I'm a bipolar crackhead whose best friend hates him and no one comes to visit in rehab. I have _no_ issues. None at all._

After his first individual session two months ago, he had received what had then been a pristine black-leather notebook. He had been skeptical at first, but after the first of dozens of lonely visitor's days, he began to write in earnest, filling the pages with entries, songs, random quotes- anything that happened to pop into his head.

Craig sighed and glanced at the analog clock hanging on the wall. It was four-thirty; visitor's day ended at 9. Patients were allowed visitors every Tuesday, and his friends from group therapy had all left that morning, trying to disguise the pity in their voices when saying goodbye.

He hadn't had one visitor in his entire stay in the center. Joey called every other day, but he felt too awkward to visit his wayward stepson in the place he had tried so hard to teach him not to end up. His friends had seemed to abandon him too; he had only received one letter in response to the six he had sent.

Another part of his therapy had been to write letters to people he knew- those who had had a profound effect on his life, and those who had been affected by his addiction. It had been his choice to send them, hoping that by some miracle someone would understand.

He'd sent letters to Marco, Jimmy, Spinner, Manny, Ellie, and even Ashley. The last had been a long shot, but he'd been desperate; she had understood him so well so long ago, perhaps she'd understand him now.

The letter he'd received, however, contained no such miracle.

It had been delivered a month and a half into his stay at the center. He had been filled with a bitter, sharp resentment at himself for what he had done, not for what he had done to himself but for what he had done to Ellie. When he said he loved her, he had been telling what he thought was the truth; he had loved both her and Manny at the time. But once again he had been caught between two girls, desperate, with a debilitating crack addiction to boot, and he had exploited Ellie's feelings for him in order to appease the demon inside that was howling at him.

His thoughts afterwards were filled with her beautiful red hair, along with the hurt and anger in her hazel eyes as she denounced him as a bastard for manipulating her.

His heart had leapt when he saw her familiar handwriting, and once the envelope reached his hands he had torn it open, nearly destroying the letter inside.

He had read it eagerly at first, expecting, if not complete forgiveness, a return to the way things were between him and Ellie Nash. He had always been able to apologize when he screwed up, and everything was forgiven. It had been that way with his abusive father, it had been that way with Manny, and it had been that way to an extent with Ashley.

Which was why what Ellie had written shocked him to the core.

_Craig,_

_Answer me this honestly: do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?_

_Your letter was filled with __your__ feelings, __your__ loneliness, and __your__ shock that no one's been there to support you. No matter how much you claim to have meant it, your apology was simply not enough, too half-hearted to spark any forgiveness. I'll head off the question at the pass- you need to apologize until you mean it. Be as passionate as you were when apologizing to Ashley for manipulating and breaking her heart too. _

_Perhaps if you thought about how the rest of us feel, you'd understand why no one's there for you. _

_You told me you loved me just to get your hands on your crack. You knew how much I liked you, how much I loved you. And this bullshit about you loving me back… I don't believe a word. It's just you trying to curry favor with me, trying to get into my good graces. But you still haven't stopped to think about how betrayed and hurt _I _feel. _

_You pull this shit all of the time. When Ash left for London, it was only about you. How much you loved her, couldn't stand losing her even for the summer, not how she honestly felt overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted. _

_It's always been about you and what you want, but this time, Craig, apologizing won't help anything. I was your best friend. But I don't know you anymore. _

_I don't want to, not until you learn to think about someone other than Craig Manning, the cokehead would-be rock star. _

_Ellie_

Just thinking about the letter would bring tears to his eyes. The letter sat in its envelope in the back of his notebook, but he hadn't been able to open it again.

It killed him to know how Ellie really saw him now, how she didn't believe in anything he said or even in _him_ anymore. A would-be rock star… She had been harsh, she had been enraged, neither of which Craig had ever felt focused onto him from her before.

Ellie had revealed his flaws in the most blunt manner possible; nothing had softened the blow. But far from making him feel better because he could improve, he felt guilty and ashamed that he hadn't been able to see those flaws himself.

He himself wasn't sure if the feelings for Ellie he was parading around were real. Perhaps it had only been the desperation; perhaps it was only chemically induced passion. That would explain why it was fading. That would explain why nothing he felt for Manny or Ellie last year came close to what he felt with Ashley. It simply wasn't real.

Craig sighed, and glanced at the clock again. It was four forty-five: only fifteen minutes had passed as he had mused. The open pages of his notebook were still glaringly blank. He had no idea what else he could do to pass the time.

He felt like this every visitor's day. And he knew he'd feel like this every visitor's day in the foreseeable future. Next week's happened to fall on Valentine's Day, as his luck would have it. And once again, he'd be alone, alternately staring at the pasty white wall, the clock that always seemed to tick slower, and his frustratingly uninspiring journal.

He had just gotten up and stretched with every intention of going back to his room and taking a nap when one of the middle-aged female receptionists stepped into the lounge.

"Craig? There's someone here for you."

He looked at her in disbelief, her words barely registering. After a few seconds, she inclined her head in a gesture indicating that he should follow her.

He did as she bid, following her and her orthopedic shoes into the blindingly white lobby of the center. He glanced first at the waiting area, anticipation and excitement causing him to grip onto his notebook as if it were a lifeline. Seeing no one there, he glanced at the desk, and what he saw slackened his grip and allowed his journal to clatter to the floor.

There stood a girl in jeans and a gray sweater, standing even taller than normal in a pair of black high-heeled winter boots, a beautifully decorated cake in her hands.

_My favorite little pastry chef…_ he thought absently as his jaw dropped down to the floor to join his notebook.

"Ashley?"


	2. Red Frosting

**Powdered Sugar and Toronto Snowflakes**

**Ch. 2- Red Frosting**

She smiled at him, pushing her long, windswept hair out of her eyes with a free hand, the captured snow now free and falling to the floor.

"Hey, Craig."

He was still gaping at her when the receptionist tapped him on the shoulder.

"You two need to leave the lobby," she said curtly, pointing to the lounge she and Craig had just left.

He looked from the older woman to the younger, the latter just smiling encouragingly at him. He sighed, realizing that Ashley was not going to make the decision for him.

Still slightly bewildered at the appearance of his ex, he jerked his head towards the door and turned to go back into the room. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ashley shift the cake and thank the receptionist, then follow him. Once in the room again, he turned around to look at her.

She was beautiful, flakes of snow still caught in her chocolate brown hair. For a brief moment, he forgot who and where he was; for a moment, he wasn't Craig Manning, the rock star in rehab, seemingly in love with a girl who hated his guts. No, in that moment he was just _her_ Craig. Ashley's Craig.

She took a step forward, towards him, and held out the cake.

"I made this for you," she began, attempting to break the ice.

He looked down at it, his bewilderment replaced with something close to awe.

It was a gorgeous cake, red icing with black trim. A staff of music wrapped around the sides of the cake, the notes made out of tiny black candies. On top, the words "Get Better Craig" gleamed in the center's fluorescent lighting.

"Oh wow, Ashley," he started, looking up from the cake at her face, which was crinkled into a nervous smile. "This is great! How'd you make it; you flew here, didn't you?"

She relaxed a little, but her eyes quickly flew to the floor. "I made it at Joey's. He sends his love." She looked up at him then, her eyes now connecting with his, the unspoken sympathy and questions making him flinch. She smiled a little, and placed the cake in his hands.

"I figured you needed some cheering up."

He nodded and avoided her questioning gaze, focusing once more on the cake. "You have no idea."

He didn't notice when the smile faded off of her face and she dove into the pink purse dangling off of her right shoulder.

"Actually, I do, Craig," she said with a sigh. She resurfaced with a worn envelope in her hands. "When I read your letter, I knew exactly how you felt."

His breathe caught in his throat as he tore his eyes from the cake to the torn paper held in front of him. The stamp was peeling off, and the ink that formed the address was fading. She removed the letter and he saw that it was nearly as worn as the envelope, the once hard creases now soft from being reread dozens of times.

At his confused expression, she chuckled.

"C'mon, let's sit. There are a few things we need to explain to each other."

He nodded semi-consciously and gestured to the couch he had so recently vacated. He was still dumbstruck as she removed the coat that had been draped over her arm and placed it daintily on the back of the couch before she herself plopped onto the seat cushion beside him.

"You okay?"

"Y-yea," he stammered. He ran a hand through his shaggy black hair. "I wasn't expecting any visitors, that's all. I wasn't even expecting a reply to that letter, let alone a trek to Vancouver!"

She smiled sheepishly and played with the hem of her sweater.

"Yes, well, I wasn't exactly expecting to come out either."

He looked at her, his eyes taking their turn to look questioning.

"Not that I don't appreciate it- you're the only soul I've seen besides the tortured ones here for two months- but why? Why now? I wrote the letter two months ago, and you out of everyone had the least reason to come."

She stared at her knees, nodding, not in agreement but in thought.

"When I got your letter, Craig," she began, "I was angry. Ellie had told me the entire story, and while my façade was calm and supportive of her and her endeavors to forget you, inside I was seething. I could not for the life of me figure out how you could've been so selfish; this was so unlike the Craig I had known before I left for London.

I had opened the letter, expecting nothing more than a rant, a long overdue bitching out for my disappearance into London, which I was fully prepared to rationalize and counter.

Instead, I found a heartfelt realization for your mistakes. Ellie was so angry that she could only find the malice in your words, malice you never intended but she was happy to seize on. Your words have haunted me since, along with your plea for someone- anyone, even your ex- to understand."

Craig nodded, marveling at how much she had said and how honest she was being.

"Go on," he prompted softly.

"Everyone seems to have forgotten," she forced out. "I've known exactly how you've felt- the desperation, the feeling of being blocked in."

"With me," he agreed. "After I was diagnosed as bipolar, right before you left for London." His stomach sank, strangely. _What was I expecting?_

"No." She shook her head.

"What?"

"I said no. Yes, I was feeling smothered, exhausted- things that I should've talked with you about instead of pushing you away. I know that now; I learned again that acting on impulse produces nothing but heartache."

"Then what was that desperate act? And when have you ever acted on impulse before then?" Craig asked, frustrated at her newfound ambiguity.

She sighed, and finally made eye contact.

"Both questions can be answered with the same response. I've done drugs myself, Craig. No, I wasn't addicted, but I took them all the same, for the same reasons."

"When?" This was news to him; he vaguely remembered being told at some point or another, but he guessed he had never fully accepted it.

She leaned back into the couch.

"It was before you and I had met, right at the end of grade eight."

"What happened with you and the gang?"

Her head snapped up; it was obviously not the question she had been expecting.

"Don't you mean why did I do it?"

He shifted his seat, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of her so he could keep their eyes connected.

"You've already told me our reasons were the same. Recording wasn't what I had expected; I was lonely and depressed even though I had people around me constantly. I was being smothered by those who claimed to care- Manny, Joey, everyone- and I was desperate for excitement. So I tried it. You were just able to stop it before it became an addiction. What I want to know is how- how they reacted, and how you and everyone became friends again."

She shook her head, her eyes now glassy. "I'm not proud of it. I called Paige a hag, cheated on Jimmy with Sean, and then broke up with Jimmy in front of everyone, embarrassing him in the worst way."

"That's why you and Sean were weird at the beginning of grade nine."

She nodded. "Yes. Basically, I groveled at everyone's feet after pretending it didn't happen failed, but in the end that failed too. Little by little, they all started talking to me again, and a year later we were all back to being friends, albeit with very different personalities and relationships, especially on my part."

Craig broke their gaze, and focused hard on the opposite wall, surprised at the tears forming in his eyes.

"Then why has no one come to me yet?"

"Because they need to see that you're not going to make the same mistakes. I had to prove that I wasn't the Ashley who took drugs. I was out of counseling and well back into life when things got better."

He nodded absently, his eyes still focused on the cottage-cheese texture of the wall behind Ashley's head.

"But what if they don't get better? What if I slip? What if I can't prove that I'm not the drug addict, and I lose everyone?"

"You won't slip, Craig. I know you better than that. And no matter how many times you've fucked up in the past, people always find a way to forgive you. Even Ellie will, in time."

She patted his shoulder, her touch lingering for a few seconds longer than it should have.

"Thanks." He shook his head, smiling a little. "I still can't believe you came."

Suddenly, his face crumpled into a scowl.

"Wait. You never answered me. Why'd you come here?"

"I've told you why. Because I've been in the same situation, and I know what you're going through, and I know just how badly you need someone there."

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean, why are _you_ the one that's here? How come you're missing school? Do Kate and Jimmy even know you're here?"

She stood. "It was nice seeing you, Craig."

He stood too, blocking her path. "No! You're not running away from me this time. You have no reason to run. I want to know why you're sitting in Vancouver with your ex, when you're boyfriend and perfect life are 1000 miles away in Toronto!"

"My perfect life? Yes, Craig, compared to here, my life is better. But don't you dare try to tell me that what I'm feeling doesn't compare, so I'm not allowed to run! No, Jimmy and my mother don't know I'm here. I bought the tickets with money I've saved working in Jimmy's shop, and I left a note on the counter saying I'd be back early tomorrow morning."

"Why? You're _still_ avoiding my question. Am I some charity case? Does NYU-bound Ashley Kerwin need to soothe her tortured conscience, and right all of the wrongs in her life? Who's selfish now!"

He was breathing heavily, his face flushed and his fists clenched. Disappointment was making him irrational, his pent up frustration and feelings pouring onto a bewildered Ashley. The cake lay forgotten on the table, precariously near the edge.

"No… no, that's not what it is at all," she said softly, her arms limp at her sides. "I still care about you, Craig. We're split, we've been exes for ages, but I still worry and care. You're not a blot on my conscience I'm trying to erase with cake and understanding. I just thought you needed a friend."

"Then why isn't Jimmy here? He's actually been there for me for the past year! Why was this so spur of the moment?" He wanted the truth out of her; he knew she was dancing around it. This wasn't Ashley; this was some prepped up girl who over the course of the conversation he could no longer recognize.

"It wasn't! For two months, I wanted to desperately see you; you're letter haunted me. Haven't you been listening?"

"Oh, yes, you were haunted. You're artistic soul is crying out to me, Ash," he spat, enraged at her lack of honesty and the change in her. "Wait, that's right- you and Jimmy are going to NYU to become lawyers together. Where are you hiding Ashley? _My_ Ashley? Because she wouldn't have sold her soul for a boy and left her keyboard to collect dust in the corner of her room! I don't know you anymore! I know myself better than you now, and that says a lot considering I'm in fucking _rehab_ for a crack addiction!"

She blinked, slowly, her glassy eyes now brimming over. She grabbed her coat and ran, her shins knocking into the table as she pushed past him, knocking her cake to the floor.


	3. My Favorite Little Pastry Chef

**Powdered Sugar and Toronto Snowflakes**

**Ch. 3- My Favorite Little Pastry Chef**

The sight of the red frosting spread over the blue carpet only enraged Craig more. She was running again, away from her own problems, leaving him with no answers. He was sick of feeling like he didn't know a thing, that he wasn't in control. And, dammit, he was going to know why she was here.

Because it wasn't just that she identified with his plight. If it were, she would have just written him back.

He tore after her after a second's thought, and managed to grab her arm as she entered the lobby. She was, after all, in heels, and unable to run fast at all.

"Kerwin, where the _hell_ are you going this time?"

He spun her around to face him, and his anger fled, leaving him feeling only shame.

She was sobbing, her body wracked with the breaths she could barely take. Her makeup was running down her face, the tears of mascara drawing black lines on her cheeks. She was wringing her hands, digging her new long nails into the skin.

"Oh, Ashley, I'm sorry- I didn't mean- what's…"

She continued to cry and tried to wrench her arms out of his grasp. He held on still tighter, and grabbed her other arm, forcing her to look up into his face.

"Ashley."

Her eyes met his, and his knees nearly buckled. Behind the tears was his Ashley, weighed down underneath stress and uncertainty.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

Her eyes hardened. "No! You're right; I'm just some stupid university bound prep now, with no artistic soul left in me. Why the hell would you ever understand me and what I'm feeling?"

She tried to wrench her arms away, her face now not red from crying but from anger.

"Let go of me."

"Understand? What?" he asked, confused.

"Never mind," she growled, still trying to pull away. "Let go of me."

Craig shook his head, keeping an even firmer grip on her arms and pulling her closer to him.

"What wouldn't I understand? Haven't we always known each other best?"

She started crying again, and bit her trembling lip.

"I'm lost."

"Lost?"

"Yes, Craig... I'm lost. I'm wearing _pink_ for crying out loud… I've been prepped and dolled up, and suddenly I'm listening to Jimmy's hip-hop and not remembering when I last touched my keyboard."

"Oh, Ashley…"

"And I just thought you would understand, that finding you and comforting you would also help me find myself. You were the one that completed the old me, and- dammit, I need to go."

She was struggling against his grip again, trying to run, to escape, and he knew it. He instead pulled her into a hug. He held her fiercely, and she melded into him, using him as her anchor, trying to stem the flow of emotion.

"I don't love him," she wept. Craig didn't have to ask who she meant, and even though she was crying, he felt his heart inexplicably lift. "I say I do, I think I know I do, but I don't. It doesn't feel the same."

He stiffened a little. "The same?"

She sniffled. "The same as it felt with you, with us. The love isn't there. It isn't real. It's as if I convinced myself of it, that I talked myself into feeling it, but it's been fading…"

"That's how it was with Ellie. It gone, Ash; you can't force it. I know what it feels like," he comforted, gently rubbing her back.

Ashley buried her face into his shoulder, clutching him tighter.

"I can't keep pretending, I can't keep leading him on. I feel terrible- what got us back together was my sympathy, that he felt a guy in a wheelchair couldn't get a girl. I set out to prove he was wrong, I like have always done with everyone, and it blossomed into what I thought was love for him. He continued to be Jimmy, but where had I gone?"

She shook her head, her tears soaking his Death Cab tee.

"I have no outlet anymore, no creative expression. Jimmy has his art, and I join Paige in retail therapy. I haven't touched my Ramones t-shirt in months. I haven't written a song in nearly a year and a half; I'm just not me. I'm not inspired, I'm just drifting along in a haze of baby doll tees and hairspray," she rambled.

Craig held her, felt the warmth that radiated off of her. He felt her body pressed against his, her arms wrapped around him, her hands on his shoulder blades. Her hair tickled his cheek, and for the first time since she had left, he felt complete.

Drugs hadn't done it.

Manny hadn't, touring hadn't, even his music hadn't filled him.

But Ashley did.

He stepped backward, and tilted her head up.

"You're not lost, Ashley. You're right here; now I see you. And I can help you see too," he breathed.

And with that, he gently placed his lips on hers and kissed her fully. After a second's hesitation, she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. As they kissed, he felt his thoughts clear and a million songs and melodies filled his head; he felt the fog lift, and felt more in touch with himself than he had in ages.

He deepened the kiss, trying to feel more, to explore emotions long lost to him, but she pulled away, guilt etched into her face.

"Craig, I-" 

"Ssh; it's okay," he soothed, stroking her hair. He still felt caught up in the waves of feeling, and was keen to feel more.

She shuffled backward, her arms still conspicuously around his neck. "No! No, it's not okay; I just cheated on Jimmy! I effing pulled a you- and Ellie's going to kill me, and oh no…" she babbled, her voice becoming more high-pitched the longer she spoke.

"Ashley, clam down!" Craig said, his heart wrenching at the sight of her looking so lost, and as he felt her start to tremble. "You're okay."

"No, no," she moaned. "I feel horrible, like scum; I feel ashamed that I led him on, left no notice, I feel like a bitch, I feel…" she trailed off, looking perplexed.

"You feel what?" he prompted.

"Inspired…" she breathed, incredulous. "I want to write a song, with self-loathing oozing out of every pause for breathe, in every rest of the melody. I want to scream and shout about how stupid I was, how stupid I _am_. I don't want to go bury my sorrows under a pile of sweaters I just bought that itch like hell. I'm _feeling_ again."

She looked up into his eyes with her tear-filled ones, her lips slowly curving into a small smile. She curled her fingers into his hair and hugged him to her, her body quivering.

"I'm feeling love," she whispered into his ear.

He responded with a grin of his own, and spun her around in a circle, a nearly inexplicable happiness filling every part of him. She squealed in glee as he set her back onto her feet.

"I love you too," he said softly, pressing his forehead into her. "Not Ellie, not many. It was never either of them. They never left me filled. The crack never left me filled. It was always you. Just you; you were everything."

"In London, it was Ali; senior year it's been Jimmy- I've always tried to replace you. No one has ever made me feel the way you have. Ever."

He let go and grabbed her hand. "When's your flight?"

"The red-eye at midnight. Like I said, I'll get back into to Toronto early tomorrow."

He checked his watch. "Well, it's only 5:45." He arched an eyebrow at her, and his grin shifted from happy to suggestive. "And you haven't seen my room."

She laughed, the last of tears gone.

"I guess I can pretend I'm a harlot for the rest of my time here."

He led her away through the door, and she willingly followed.

"You're not a harlot, Ash. Not at all. Although, the rehab staff might jut think you evil for that cake frosting," he winked, and she laughed again, a hearty, throaty laugh that filled his heart and mind.

His favorite little pastry chef.


	4. Epilogue

**Powdered Sugar and Toronto Snowflakes**

**Epilogue**

**One Week Later…**

Craig woke up in anticipation, a smile on his face from the moment he opened his eyes.

He glanced at the digital alarm clock on his nightstand, then jumped out of his bed, grabbed his clothes, and bolted into the bathroom he shared with Neal, his suitemate in the center.

Exactly 15 minutes later he emerged, fully clothed, the steam pouring out around him from the bathroom.

Neal, who had been putting on his shoes, looked up in surprise.

"Why're you awake? You normally sleep until two or three on Visitor's Day."

"Good morning to you too," Craig grinned, arching his eyebrow at the twenty-four year old. "I'm allowed to change my routine, aren't I?"

Neal rolled his eyes and opened the door to the hallway. "You comin' to breakfast? I've got some time before Mom and Pop show up."

"Ah, visitors," Craig sighed dreamily as he grabbed his acoustic guitar and his notebook and sauntered out the door.

"Man, what has gotten into you? You got some contraband in you?"

Craig laughed as they clambered down the flight of stairs to the lobby.

"Nah, man, I just have plans today."

"What kind of plans-" Neal started, but was interrupted by running smack into Craig, who was now staring at something near the receptionist's desk, shell-shocked.

"Craig, dude, what the hell…" Neal spluttered, but trailed off once he got a look at what had suddenly transfixed Craig.

There stood a gorgeous brunette, her long curly hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore a Yellowcard band tee, jeans, and a pair of black Converse. A studded cuff bracelet adorned her wrist, and in the hand attached to that wrist was a black gift bag with red tissue paper.

Her dark-rimmed eyes sought out Craig's, whose mouth was gaping open.

Behind her were a bald man and a young girl. In the girl's hands was a plate full of chocolate chip cookies.

"Craig!" she squealed, smiling so wide that it stretched all the way to her ears.

The man smiled nervously.

"Hey, partner."

"Joey- Angie- Ashley, how…" Craig stammered.

"Surprise," the girl named Ashley said, as she continued to smile. She then motioned towards the common area door with a nod of her head.

Craig seemed to understand and visibly relaxed, and spoke to his suitemate as he walked to the desk to sign in the people who could only be assumed to be his family.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Neal."


End file.
